Dear Imaginary Lizzie
by Matril
Summary: Lizzie Bennet Diaries. Another letter Darcy writes to Lizzie, one that he never plans to give her.
1. The Letter

Dear Lizzie,

This is the letter you will never read.

The other letter which you actually received seems to have served its intended purpose. Over a month has passed since its reception, and from the glimpses I have seen through your videos, I believe you are aware of certain truths, including the duplicitous character of a certain mutual acquaintance, as well as my intention to fully remove myself from your life to prevent further pain on your part. That letter was written and delivered to convey those truths as politely and painlessly as possible.

There are other things that I long to convey, but I cannot as long as I respect your wishes. So I write them here instead, to a fictitious Lizzie. It is, in truth, merely a private confessional, but I find it easier to express myself as if to you, within this constructed paradigm. And so I begin.

Lizzie, I answered all but one of your accusations from our heated and (on my part only) shameful encounter. In my other letter I acknowledged my mistaken belief about Jane's indifference as well as my suspicions of Bing's wavering feelings; I addressed your charge against me as to denying a certain someone his deserved inheritance. But you initially accused me of something that I dared not reference in that first letter – my failure to show any affection toward you. There were references to hernias and judgmental checklists, as I recall. What use could there be in bringing that up? You would be perfectly happy if such things were never mentioned again. You never desired my affections, and my only expression of them, clumsily and selfishly expressed, was downright abhorrent to you.

But I have reviewed my behavior and seen the justice in your words, and though I cannot apologize to you directly without breaking my resolve to respect your feelings and privacy, I must do it here.

When we first met at Stuart and Ellen's wedding, I was reeling from hours of social interaction among a large group of mostly-strangers. I am never at my best in such situations, and it was compounded by certain matters of business at Pemberley that required my long-distance attention. I was also concerned for my sister, who had been somewhat less communicative than usual – due to a certain secret relationship, which I would discover to my pain all too soon. I was irritated by the supposed necessity of engaging in small talk and noisy merriment when I wanted nothing more than to retire to bed and return to San Francisco first thing in the morning.

Then Stuart, supposing that he was doing me a favor, had the brilliant notion to aim his lacy missile directly into my unsuspecting hands, whereupon I was compelled to comply with foolish tradition and dance with a complete stranger. I had no interest in pretending to enjoy it. I have always prided myself on this distaste of fakery. But I can see now that I truly had little reason to be proud of my behavior. I've learned that you, too, were forced into the pairing, irritated by the situation and wishing to be elsewhere. Yet you responded graciously, attempting to make something pleasant out of a bad situation. In comparison, my behavior was less like honesty and more like boorishness.

Afterward, Bing seemed to think my sour mood would somehow be improved by more social interaction rather than less. I wanted nothing more than to flee. I don't recall my exact words. I certainly had no idea you were in hearing distance. That does not excuse the way I casually damned you with faint praise. I suppose I can never make direct amends for that particular hurt. Indirectly, I can only hope that leaving you alone will evidence my contrition.

Initially, I never planned to stay longer than the wedding. The first cause for my delay in returning was Bing's hasty involvement with Jane. I worried his willingness to think the best of people would lead to heartbreak and worse, as it had more than once before. So I resolved to observe Jane and his interactions with her, and offer my counsel and advice. We need not dwell on how that turned out.

The unexpected result of my determination to observe Jane was the opportunity to spend more time in your company. And, hardly realizing why, I began putting off my return home, inventing more and more reasons to stay. I pretended for a time that it was only for Bing's sake, and perhaps as a measure of solidarity with Caroline. Eventually I had face the truth. I was staying for you.

I hesitate to describe the early stages of my feelings in much detail, even to your hypothetical self, because it was interwoven with my reluctance and – to be completely honest, even resentment – that I should find myself growing attached to a woman of such inconvenient circumstances. I have dwelt enough on those supposed inconveniences to fill a volume of regrets. Instead, I shall endeavor to delineate what genuine attractions you held for me. Why do I speak in the past tense? You have as much a hold on me while absent as when present, perhaps even more so.

I feel that the entire room is transformed whenever you enter it. There is some intangible power you carry, turning insipid small talk into lively, engaging discussion, finding the humor in every situation. You express your opinions fearlessly. Whenever we engaged in verbal sparring I found something new to consider even if I still disagreed with your viewpoint. You are brilliant without being pretentious or condescending, driven to achieve your goals in the face of any obstacle, thoughtful and openly affectionate to those you care about.

Should I speak of your beauty now, as long as you'll never actually be bothered by my unwanted effusions? Very well. You noticed my frequent stares, though the cause was not nearly as transparent to you as I would have thought. When we first met, I could give you a cursory glance and think little of it. After a few weeks, I found myself glancing your way more and more often. There was something about your eyes. I have considerable difficulty gathering the words for it. Soft, yet intense. I might even venture into poetic hyperbole and call them hypnotic. By the time of your stay at Netherfield, I was thoroughly transfixed.

There is a particular loveliness in the way your hair falls about your neck and shoulders, the contrast between dark red and porcelain. Your skin is…I will dare to say _tempting_, to your unhearing ears. I confess to more than one fantasy of touching my lips to its smooth perfection. And now I suppose my poetry has become downright revolting.

You are the loveliest woman I know. You are lovely because I know you, because I adore you. I know you far better now than on that thoughtless day last month. I do not pretend that watching your videos grants me a privileged insight into your mind, but it certainly teaches me that there is so much I didn't know. I made so many unforgivable assumptions. I, unlike you, was utterly pretentious, condescending, pompous and presumptuous. I hoped you would come to return my feelings without offering a single motivation for you to do so. And now I have gained exactly what I deserve. You will never be a part of my life.

But in this unsent letter, I had to let you know why I fell in love with you. And I love you still.

William Darcy


	2. The Discovery

_All right, I went ahead and wrote a follow-up chapter. Very, very sappy and fluffy._

Lizzie had never been in William's LA office before. It was pretty surprising, now that she thought about it. His office at the main branch was one of their most common meeting places, second only to their actual home. (Her office was kind of low on the list, since its limited confines barely had enough space for her desk and chair, let alone a second person.) But she had never been to Pemberley's Los Angeles branch until now.

She was in the city for meetings with several investors, and the visit happily coincided with William's own business schedule. It didn't happen very often, so they planned to make the most of it. They had dinner reservations, tickets to a play, and a luxurious hotel suite – an extravagant sort of evening that Lizzie only agreed to on special occasions such as this. It didn't detract from the romance in their relationship in the least. In fact, an artificially limited budget made their gifts far more creative and personalized. Still, they could also have plenty of fun when ample money was involved.

Since Lizzie finished her business first, she was waiting in his office, laughing at his most recent text. _Meeting is finally winding down. Never has anything seemed more interminable._

Judging from past experience, "winding down" meant she had about fifteen minutes to kill. Shouldn't be too hard. She walked the plush carpet to the spacious desk, sat down and began idly swiveling back and forth as she surveyed the room. It wasn't quite as large as the Pemberley office, but the windows were wider, letting in a ton of sunlight – especially now in the evening, since they faced west. She smiled at the photographs that lined the desk. Several of her, one of Gigi, and a few of Lizzie and William together, including the recent addition of a wedding photo.

After a long, happy look at the last one, Lizzie turned to the bottom right drawer. If William's habits were consistent from one office to another, this would be where he kept personal mementos, non-business items like ticket stubs and silly notes from her. He was hardly a packrat, but when it came to family, he was delightfully sentimental.

Same here as in San Francisco. Lizzie dug through the assorted items, mostly meaningless for anyone but William and her. Some things made her chuckle; others made her teary-eyed. And then there were several sheets of paper, neatly folded and unmarked. What significance did that carry? She didn't recognize it as anything important. She fished it out of the pile, opened it up and found herself looking at her own name.

_Dear Lizzie,_

_This is the letter you will never read_.

She didn't even know she was crying until she was nearly finished and tears started dripping onto the paper, forcing her to put it away and wipe her face furiously. Of course that was the moment William came in, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

"Lizzie?" His warm concern just made her cry harder. He hurried to her side and knelt, taking her hand in his. "What is it?"

She swallowed a sob, waving the letter at him like an accusation. "You idiot. You perfect, selfless idiot."

His brow furrowed. "I'm sorry?" He took the letter, glanced at it, and finally understood. He straightened, letting out a heavy sigh. "Oh, Lizzie. That – I thought I destroyed that. I'm sure I did."

"Obviously not," she said thickly.

"Obviously not."

Lizzie got up, sat him down on the chair – he obliged without protesting, looking dazed – and resumed her place by settling into his lap, head against his shoulder to look up at his face.

"But I had every intention of destroying it," he said, frowning as he always did during intense thought. "I remember. I wrote it during a particularly – difficult – moment, as a form of venting, but by December, I felt it would be best to get rid of it. As a sort of symbolic gesture." His expression shifted. "And then I was distracted. Now I remember. I was waiting to watch your video, but it was late that day."

"Late? Oh, right." She grimaced. "The new year's video. Poor Charlotte. She got a lot of frantic texts from me that morning."

"I had resolved to stop watching your videos, for perhaps the fourth or fifth time. My resolve always broke. I was disgusted with myself, carrying that letter with me as if it were some sort of talisman."

"Carrying it with you everywhere," Lizzie said, straightening a little. "Just like I did with the letter you gave me?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I didn't mean to imply a comparison –"

"You don't need to imply it. The similarities are there." She put a hand to his face, softly. "It was like we were paying penance. For how badly we'd misunderstood each other."

"I didn't see it that way. I thought I was holding onto false hope, and it was better to let go. So I was on my way to the shredder with the letter."

"The shredder?" she said, managing a somewhat playful smile. "I'd have thought you'd rather burn it, being the old-fashioned romantic that you are."

"Perhaps. But as you can see, this office isn't equipped with a fireplace, and I'd prefer not to set off the smoke alarm."

"Probably wise."

"But on my way there, I received a notification on my phone. It was another tweet from you, that you'd finally successfully posted your video."

"You had me on Twitter notification? Even back then?"

He ducked his head. "I doubt you would have been so charmed, had you known at that point."

"Never mind that. So you saw my video. And – oh. That's when you found out I was coming to Pemberley."

"Yes."

"Kind of a major distraction."

"Indeed. By the time I had confirmed your shadowing and spent some time adjusting to such a startling prospect, I had forgotten all about the letter. I must have tucked it away in the drawer to think about later. But I never did." Brushing the hair back from her face, he went on, "I wish I had thought of it. I wish you hadn't found it this way. I hate to think it hurt you like this." He ran a gentle thumb over her tear-stained cheek.

"Hurt me? No, it's not like that–"

"You were crying. And I believe you called me a 'selfless idiot'?"

She flushed. "Well, I was feeling a little emotional. Not hurt, though." She gripped his hands. "_You_ were hurt. I – I crushed you." William opened his mouth, but she pushed onward before he could interrupt. "Whether I ever found the letter or not, you still felt that way once. Those feelings were real. And I'm glad I know about them. Because I intend to do everything in my power to make up for how much I hurt you."

"You don't owe me a debt. You know that."

"It's not about debts. It's – I just hate to see you sad. Even past-you. And now I'm going to kiss you."

"No objections to that," he murmured just before she closed the distance between them.

"Oh, and by the way," she added, once they'd come up for air, "tonight you're going to have plenty of opportunities for – what was it? Touching your lips to –"

"Lizzie," he protested, red-faced with embarrassment.

"To my skin's smooth perfection," she finished.

"I never intended for you to –"

"Yes, yes, it's revoltingly poetic. I love it." She kissed him again, fairly melting in the warmth of his happiness. And she might have cried just a little more. But not all tears were sad.


End file.
